


We're a Fucking Mexican Soap Opera

by Jay_Spank



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, and you get a feel, everyone is sad, im like the Oprah of sad, minor past character death, who knew going to the movies would be so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Spank/pseuds/Jay_Spank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's a mess and like the fuck you have any idea what to do</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're a Fucking Mexican Soap Opera

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know. Also apologies for grammar and etc.

You really don’t know what the fuck to do. You are supposed to be watching the midnight premiere of the New Ghostbusters movie and bestow John with commentary that would make the fucking angels above weep their fucking eyes out. But no you are not doing that. In fact you’re not even in the goddamn theater anymore. He grabbed you and tugged you away before your ass could even make an introduction to your seat. You are now standing in the dimly lit men’s restroom where John is fucking sobbing into your shoulder and squeezing you like he’s an overly buff three year old and you’re the poor lost baby bird he found. You look like a fucking Mexican soap opera.

You want to help, but again you have no fucking clue what to do. John has never fucking cried. He has teared up at the end of shitty movies and sometimes had a few tears roll when he thought no one was looking, but never this. Never full on snot in your boyfriend’s shoulder I’m losing my fucking shit cried. What are you supposed to do? Clearly your current method was not receiving rave reviews. You were just being the human fucking Kleenex. You were doing nothing. You were legit fucking standing there doing nothing with your arms. Weren’t you suppose to like pat people on the back or shit like that? No! Fuck that shit. People only did that after their kid lost a fucking baseball game because they fucking suck and then their parents pat them on the back to give them some ounce of self-worth. This was not the type of situation. John didn’t lose the game he lost his fucking mind.

You hear the bathroom door open and see a man come in. You see the confusion on his face and before he can say anything about John you shut him fucking down.

“Hey you got a problem with my boy here? Jesus Fucking Christ! A man can’t fucking let his eyes become waterfalls of emotion without masculinity monkeys like you throwing  shit at him." You know it’s pretty fucking harsh, but John doesn’t need to deal with this. The guy’s about to say something, but you quickly take of your shades and glare at him with your vibrant red eyes shooting daggers. “You got something to fucking say?” The man shakes his head and quickly leaves the bathroom. You put your shades back.

“Tha…thanks…Dave,” John says finally through his sobs and your shoulder. You tilt your head so you can see the top of John’s head and you run your fingers through is even more unruly hair. It just seems to make fucking sense to do.

“No problem babe,” You say and his sobs slowly become laughter. “What?”

“Babe? So sappy,” John says lifting his head off your shoulder and gives you a small grin. He looks like a fucking mess. His face is red and puffy and full of fucking snot.

“I am a fucking maple tree Egbert,” you say wiping away the snot under his nose with your shirt sleeve. It’s fucking gross but you gotta make sacrifices when your boyfriend is an emotional mess. John laughs and falls back into your chest. You wrap your arms around him and rub his back. Not pat like a fucking loser.

“When we were in the theater,” he says moving his head to get more comfortable position on his chest, “I saw a guy with his son.”

 

“Interesting.” You rest your head on John’s. It’s uncomfortable but you don’t really give a shit. You have no idea why John is telling you this, but whatever it’s better than crying. John doesn’t talk for a while after that. You think you should say something, but all you do is continue rubbing his back because you really don’t know what to say.

“I… I miss my dad,” He says his voice starting to shake. John’s dad died a year and a half ago. John buries his face deeper into your chest. You hug him tighter. “I miss him so fucking much Dave,” John starts crying again and you can’t help but shed a tear too. This is John. Whose smile is the most goddamn beautiful thing you ever did see. Who can’t go ten minutes without laughing at something that’s fucking stupid. Your John. And now he’s crying. He’s broken and a fucking mess and all you can do is hold him.

“It’s okay John, it’s okay,” You say to him. It’s cliché as shit, but what else can you say? You don’t know what he’s going through. All you can do is be there for him and that’s what you’re going to do.

“Thanks Dave.”

“No problem, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> that's it. I suck at endings


End file.
